Seeing what I see
by FairlightMuse
Summary: a wedding night as viewed by a voyeuristic painting. Marriage law inspired.


If Sirius were alive to see you now! If I were a _mirror_, instead of a _portrait_, I would reflect you, just so you could see what I am seeing. Your hair. . .it seems to have lost a bit more of it's color. It isn't really going _grey_, more like it is fading. Becoming less there. You have run your trembling hands through it so many times, out of nervousness or anger. . .that is no longer neatly combed. A curl of it has fallen over your left eye. 

Your nice, neat wedding outfit is crumpled, and you have wiped your palms on your thighs until the material is damp and discolored. It will take a good spell to disguise that, and Snape won't be happy. He is already angry that the Headmistress made him lend you a suit for the impromptu ceremony.

You look absolutely miserable; as though you were about to ascend the gallows, not enjoy your wedding night. It isn't as though she is unattractive. It's just that you have a vision of nobility. Everybody knows that you are _guilty._

You feel guilt because of your illness, and guilt because of your '' uselessness", and now guilt because you have had to go and marry that little Miss Granger to keep her form getting snatched up by a greedy sadistic Deatheater.

There comes a time when a man really _shouldn't_ be so damned guilty about doing the _right_ thing. It _almost_ makes you seem self pitying. I would almost think that you liked to pity yourself...and I don't want to have to think such an ugly thought about such a gallant gentleman.

Of course, you are _frustrated _that the Ministry has forced the Muggleborns to marry, and frustrated because they place so many restrictions on people of _your_ kind, so that you can't really work to support a wife and family, and you are very frustrated that Miss Granger chose _you_; not because you don't like her but because she _didn't listen_ to your well rehearsed rant about how unworthy you were. ..and most of all you are _very_ frustrated that the Ministry has placed a seal on your contract that will assure the marriage is genuine.

Yes. . .that part _really_ has you worried doesn't it?

You, a marauder, and friend of Sirius Black. . .pacing the chambers like a sixteen year old virgin, snuffing out half smoked cigarettes, and cursing the day you were born.

More like a_ bride_ than a bridegroom...I bet that if they weren't forcing your hand, you wouldn't so much as step within ten feet of Miss Granger would you? Too afraid you might be tempted by her soft full lips, and her sleek, _plump_ little body?

You would rather drag out eternity living in more self inflicted punishment than a celibate monk; making her suffer in the bargain too, just for your _nobility_.

Tsk, tsk.

As it is, you seem threatening, like you want to hate her for forcing you to be a _man_. A human. As much as you want to _be _human, and to deny the werewolf, why do you resist this most human of instincts? This privilege of mankind? To love and be loved. . .to share. Even us portraits understand the importance of sharing. Whatever your thoughts are at the moment, you should really consider wearing your happy face. The poor girl will think you want to eat her.

There she is!

Oh _look_ at how lovely she looks, her brown eyes so large and innocent. Wise, but innocent. She is nervous, but she likes you. She wants you to treat her as an adult now. She is an adult; I see you admiring her form. Someone, no doubt her friend Ginny, has dressed her in that attractive gown. The significance of the color is not lost on you.

She hesitates, and blushes, not knowing what to do, or where to go; you seem so unapproachable. That's it Hermione. . .hold your chin up. Good girl. She is getting into the bed, slowly and surely, disguising her nervousness, and the tremble of her hands.

She settles the comforter around her hips, as she leans against the pillows, looking to you expectantly. Time is ticking. . .you have three hours, or the contract is void. She goes by default to Mr. Malfoy. Do you think _he_ will be so noble? Do you think _he_ would care if she were young, or nervous?

Thinking of him touching her with his large rough hands? Makes you squirm a bit doesn't it? She is a jewel, a treasure; and if you don't help her she is going to be lost. Wasted. You know he would destroy her. Tear her apart and throw away the soiled pieces. You lower your eyes, and try to soften you features.

It doesn't help, I see your nostrils flaring, as you smell of her; familiarizing yourself with her scent. You _like_ it...don't you?

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"I'll. . .I'll be right back." he said, and nearly tripped as he hurried into the bath.

Hermione bit her lower lip, and tried to control her body. She felt dizzy, and a bit queasy. At the same time that she felt feverishly alert and curious. She stifled a yawn, knowing full well, she would probably never sleep again. Nervousness did not even _begin_ to describe the sheer extent of her trepidation; and she was embarrassed to discover herself sweating.

'' Lovely, " she murmured to herself." How _very_ attractive."

Not that Remus seemed to find her attractive _anyway_. She didn't blame him, though she wished it could be different. It must be much harder for a man...she surmised. They have to be_ aroused_, a woman can just lie like a rug and wait. Not that she _wanted _to lie like a rug...what she wanted was simple.

She had imagined; allowing herself just a bit of fancy, that when she exited the bath, he would be shirtless and barefoot, waiting by the bed. He would look at her in her frothy white gown and gasp with pleased surprise at how lovely she was, deciding then and there that his reservations had been foolish. They would throw caution and awkwardness to the wind and become lovers just like they had always been friends.

She was just the tiniest bit disappointed that he had looked rather bug eyed and pale upon seeing her, and had made a hasty retreat for the deserted bath, his shoulders low, and his expression unreadable. Nervously she looked at the clock, as she listened to the sound of Remus splashing cold water on his face.

Please...don't let him change his mind. I won't ask him to do anything ever again, just please let him make love to me tonight.

" That sounds so selfish Hermione..." she chided herself softly. " He's going to think you only want this union to save your skin...just what a marriage needs, the groom to start out with the exact wrong impression. "

She glanced briefly at a portrait on the wall. She didn't recognize the face, but it struck her as odd, that it was of a wizard...yet the portrait did not move. It was perfectly stationary; just like any of the Muggle paintings in her mother's house.

" Between you and me..." she told the stately figure." I really _do_ fancy him..." and she gave a very sad sigh. " So _very_ much, actually."

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I _know_ you do. I could see it in your pretty eyes, when you walked into the room. Poor little dear. You honestly don't realize that he fancies you as well, now do you? Of course not. He is trying his best to keep that fact hidden, and you are too inexperienced to recognise his symptoms.

Between you and _me_ Miss Granger; I think that he is a bit of a fool. But a good man, and if you are very patient, and very loving; he might just come to his senses.

Speaking of senses...werewolves have very acute hearing. Even with that tap mercilessly open; I imagine that he heard your little words. Oh...hear he comes now...let's see if he is going to play the lover or the gentleman.

There she goes, tucking herself in a bit deeper...like a little girl. No, no...Miss Granger; or should I say, Mrs. Lupin? You need to be a bit bolder. Lie there and wait for him, but look him in the eye. Reveal a creamy shoulder for his admiration!

_Look at him_.

Remus Lupin...you _still_ look petrified. Only now you are slightly more damp. You are viewing her warily; I suppose you overheard our private conversation? She fancies you, and you are still standing at the end of the bed, working your mouth around a word or two. Just climb in. I bet the water is very nice. Sheets look soft too.

Goood, approach the bed slowly. Your pajama's look nice...though slightly puritanical. She seems to think Burgundy suits you...Take off your robe, sit on the bed. Dowse the light.

Now there is just the soft lamp in the corner; as warm and flattering as candle light. Your skin is not so pale now, and her skin is not so blotchy. Everybody looks better by candlelight. No wait, I amend that statement; a few persons just popped into my mind that not even a solar eclipse could flatter. We should all be thankful that neither of you, are with any of them, in my room tonight. Ahem.

Less than three hours to go now...you should_ really_ consider kissing her. Oh, there's a good man! Start with her hand, that makes it look as though you are a _complete _gentleman, and you do it so sincerely.

You are saying with that gesture that you respect her, and wish that things could have been different. But be strong, remember you are her protector now; her knight. Now...a compliment is in order.

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" Her...Hermione? "

" Yes?"

" You do..look lovely."

' Thank you...and...and...you look very nice. That color...it makes your eyes remarkable."

Her compliment was a bit more straightforward, but perfectly sincere. She was surprised that she managed to get any cioerent thoughts into the open air...her throat felt incredibly small...and she could barely think for the sound of blood rushing through her head.

" I think...I suppose..." Remus tried. " I mean...I ...you.."

" Yes...?" she whispered.

"Well, I should...or at least , I think I should...um..." He stammered around for a second more, then hurriedly pressed his lips against hers.

She gave a surprised gasp, and placed her hand on his arm, not sure of where she was supposed to touch him. The kiss was almost chaste, though a little more lingering than the hasty wedding kiss, where he had almost missed her mouth completely.

" Did you like it?" he asked, a bit shyly.

" I did like it."

" Kissing is strange isn't it?' he mused, as he pressed another to her mouth, this time daring to caress her slightly with his lips. He had shaved extra close so that he wouldn't bother heer with stubble.

" I...don't really know? Why do you say so?" she asked.

" Well...first of all, I wonder who first thought to touch someone by mouth? It doesn't really feel good, so much as it feels different...why did the tradition persist?" musing in a professor-ish fashion helped to relieve some of his nervousness...though he was overly concious that at any moment, the idle chatter might lead to babbling...something he had been notorious for in his unstable youth.

" It feels rather good. " she argued. " It makes my lips tingle. "

" This lip?' he asked, kissing the bottom one a little more eagerly.

" Yesss...and the other one as well."

He administered a similar kiss to that lip.

By this time, Hermione's arms had moved to his neck, and the very idea that she was allowed of all the women in the world to place her arms around his neck, and feel the scarred skin prickled with fine blonde hairs; seemed more intimate even than the kisses, and she trembled pleasantly as her stomach fluttered.

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Well...I must say, I have hung on many walls, and seen many trysts, but I have never heard a philosophy on the origin of kisses used to break the proverbial ice. I see it worked though, and a therefore, you should remember it Mr. Lupin, because she will recall every word and nuance of this night, and if you should one day, say, thirty years from now, whisper those words in her pearly ear; " Kissing is strange isn't it?" you will find your tired wife returned to the fresh new bride. Not all magic comes from a wand.

There, now she is shivering, but I don't believe she is cold. Her teeth click together, even as you explore her mouth. I wonder if she tastes of strawberries? She looks as though she would taste of strawberries and smell of sweet clover.

Now you seem to be a little more enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. You ask if she needs more cover...and she tries to convey to you that you are the cause and the cure for her trembling body.

You don't seem to be understanding her looks, or her smile, because you summon a new blanket, and begin rubbing her hands. She frees one of them and touches your cheek, tracing the lines and angles carved there by the sands of time.

Down the bridge of your nose, across you cheekbones. She has delicate fingers, even though the nails are rather in want of care. You instinctively kiss her the tips when she traces your thin curved lips.

This is better than I would have imagined; you even nibble at the sensitive skin, causing her to squirm against you. That got your attention, now didn't it? Suddenly you are now adventurous, and you give her feverish kisses that force her tiny mouth open. I can see the barest glimpse of your tongue as you taste her. If only I could turn my head and watch better...I must admit I am voyeur at heart. One learns to amuse oneself in all the wrong fashions, when one is imprisoned for two hundred years in a painting.

It looks as though Mr. Malfoy won't be getting her after all. What a pity. You've overcome your guilt long enough, I see, to explore the long skin of her leg. Not very long...she is rather petite, but any leg is good leg, eh, old man? Wait...what are you doing? Pulling away once more, agitated. You sit up, and hold your head in your hands a moment...and she looks absolutely heartsick. What is the matter with you now?

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" Remus? " she asked, softy. Her skin practically burned with his touch, yet he had pulled way so abruptly. Had she done something wrong?

" Was...was it something I did?" she asked, when he did not answer to his name.

Her innocent plea made his shoulders droop with shame, and he turned to her, smiling sadly.

" Yes...and no." he took her hand again.

" I don't understand." she stated.

" Yes...because you are making me very glad that I am here...when I don't deserve to be. And no...because everything about you is so damned perfect." it came out a bit testier than he had intended.

She sat up, and began to caress his palm, tracing the deeply etched lines. His hands were very large, and bony; the tendons stood out in relief and he had rough , hairy knuckles. She lay the hand against her cheek.

" My opinion hasn't changed, Remus." she said sternly. " Not only do I think you deserve to be here, I think you deserve better than what you are getting. I realize I am no prize...but you'll find I have many good traits. I...I 'm fair, and I am not so bossy anymore. I don't like jewelry, I am good at croquet, I am a passable cook... provided you never tire of soup; I don't like partying or drinking, I like to read books, I can speak French, I can knit sweaters, I can control my hair with enough charms, and I never use the toothpaste from the the top of the tube first. Don't you think you can try to like me a little bit? "

He laughed in spite of himself.

" That's just it Hermione...I do like you. And I will always like you. I like soup, I like sweaters, and I play croquet as well...but this..." he gestured to the bed." this is very awkward on such short notice. I am just trying to...relax."

" Oh...I thought you were disgusted with me." she gave a nervous laugh.

" Hardly." he smiled in return, and pressed his mouth against her neck.

She tilted her head to the side, revealing the full length. He tensed, as he realized how much trust that must take on her behalf. Luckily the moon was not for another week...but that didn't stop him from being able to smell the pulsing of her blood.

He reflexively licked at the skin there, and she sighed.

He began to think that perhaps the best way to go about it all, was not to think so much at all. and to just keep moving forward. Perhaps if he took on a more dominant position...

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And I thought you were going to chicken out. One minute, your sitting with your head in your hands, the next you have Hermione on her back, and are lying across her legs.I guess you learned a thing or two from your schoolfellows after all. That move had a distinct James Potter flair to it.

The blankets are coming down now, and I can see your hands. You are kissing her about the mouth and throat, while trying to unlace the gown. I gather from the fumbling haste, that you have not undone many laces in your lifetime.

Judging by your actions tonight...I wonder if you have ever unlaced anyone at all? You tug eagerly, anxious to discover her breasts. The kisses are supposed to distract her are they not...? Do you really think she doesn't suspect where you are going? Look at how she gazes down, curious as at last you run your fingers inside, and stroke your prize.

She almost pulls away, at first, then allows it. It must feel unusual; foreign to be a woman touched for the first time in so private a place. I see her breast now, for the gown has fallen open. It is full and heavy...and old fashioned bosom, with a very large, pale center.

You pull away to gaze a moment, and she blushes, twisting to return your attention back to herself. You color too, as if suddenly guilty that you were enjoying yourself so much.

That doesn't stop you from lowering your lips there, and coaxing a tiny nipple to present itself. Her nipples seem shy too, slightly bashful about standing up. She like the administrations though, her fingers are curled into your hair, massaging your scalp as she begins to undulate slightly.

You rise up just enough to begin stripping her gown lower; she tries to help, but you get tangled momentarily, your arms and hands all going the wrong way. You apologize softly, as she falls back to the bed, allowing you to pull the gown down around her full hips.

It gets kicked off somewhere beneath the covers.

As soon as you are done, you return to your position over her. She reaches her hands up to undo your shirt, and you pull back in surprise. What an expression! You weren't really going to make love with your pajamas on were you? Oh, you were! You old prude you!

I like the determined frown she has suddenly pasted on her face, and the way she brushes you hands away form where they were clutching your collar. Businesslike, she unbuttons you, and slowly slides the satin material away.

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Oh gods! Hermione thought excitedly. He had a lovely body! Thin and flat, with shadows of his ribcage showing along his sides. No ugly, bulging muscles, gymnasium sculpting or false tans. He had the remarkable natural body of a man who was too poor to eat as often as he should, worked a lot, and didn't;t have time on his hands for vanity exercises.

The skin there was paler than his face and hands, the hair thick across his chest...and the scars of his self inflicted wounds pale pink and begging to be traced around and around like the patterns of a labryinth.

Another time, she thought...hoping optimistically that there would be another time.  
Now she was just content to caress him and knead his shoulders as she pressed tiny light kisses along his chest.

He relaxed slightly when he was sure she wasn't going to bolt and run at the sight of his old scarred hide.

Well...she might still run tomorrow if she sees what a pitiable condition your back is in!

He told himself.He thought he might be able to keep that from her, but she already had her arms around him, and was exploring...feeling the matted lines of tissue dating back to his youth.

' Hermione...don't. It's not a pretty sight, and you don't want to touch it." he murmured, trying to urge her arms back to his neck. She refused to relent though, arching her naked body against his to distract him.

" It's only scars, Remus. " she reassured him. " I'm not scared of scars. Don't let me hurt you though..."

" How would you hurt me? " he asked, absently, as his hand sought to open her knees.

" Some of those feel quite fresh...I wouldn't...wouldn't want to reopen them. You know..if I accidentally scratched you."

The very idea went straight to his down-below; having her so lust filled that she scratched him in her throes of passion. He was prepared to throw himself into the possibility with fervor...but she had suddenly realized that his hand was between her legs, and without warning, she clamped them shut.

" Hermione?' he asked, and she bit her lip...trying noticeably to control her muscles.

" I...I ...shouldn't you take off your...your pants? " she stammered.

He considered it a moment.

" Not this time. "

" Why not?"

" Please Hermione...just allow me one absurdity? Just for tonight?" he kissed her again, and she nodded, with a slight shrug.

"Okay...but I don't see how it's going to be possible..."

Oh ho ho! Seriously, you are going to keep your trousers on? I don't know whom to laugh at first...you for your unwarranted modesty, or her for her almost painful naivete. Don't know how it's going to be possible, indeed.

Really, a Marauder and the Head Girl. What a combination. And if you add the trousers into the marriage, you have the the strangest menage a trois in both the wizarding and muggle worlds. Maybe the pajamas will be the enlightened member of the group. I really do wish Sirius could see this...he would laugh himself back into the next world.

But I am bing cruel. I understand, this must be difficult. snicker At least...at least you have ceased being so guilt ridden, and actually seem to be enjoying yourself slightly. I am a little confused about the pants, but I see you have at last coaxed your young bride to re-open her lovely thighs, and have finally found the perfect use for your nervous hands.

Idle hands are the Devil's playground so they say, so best to keep him at bay a while longer. Hermione seems to like it as well. I never thought she would be the type to allow a man to do all the work. She seemed a bit more independent, like she would have something to prove in bed, but I guess you can never tell about the scholarly ones. She makes sweet noises though, like a desert wind, or the whisper of pines.

She is also practically trying to pull you through her, she hugs you so tightly...I think perhaps you should cease stalling. There is less than two hours left now...the two of you have lost track of the precious minutes as you explored and caressed.

Well...I guess that answers Hermione's question about how it is possible. She apparently had no clue as to the geography of men's pants, and there clever 'peepholes'. Now that you have brought it all out for air, and she didn't scream, I think you should count yourself as a fortunate man. The girl likes you Mr. Lupin, and she is very interested in meeting the until-now-hidden third party in your tryst.

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Hermione's mouth formed a few interesting shapes, none of which produced words... she was so enthralled by the gentle ccaressing he was doing to her intimate parts...that she had forgotten there was more to come. When he carefully freed himself from the confines of the satin pajama bottoms, she had been taken by surprise; but was instantly fascinated.

Remus was, in her opinion, beign very un-cooperative. He lay full along her body, moving only slightly as he rubbed along the outside of her leg. Therefore she could only get a glimpse or two of what he might be about to offer her...

However, when he returned his kisses to her mouth and began whispering encouragements combined with almost incoherent pleas...she forgot so much about peeking, and concentrated more on squirming against him trying to ease the longing welling up from inside of her. She could almost put to words what she needed, or wanted, but it was just a feeling, and a feeling such as she had never experienced. The poetry alluded her, so silently she suffered. Waiting.

When it seemed she could take no more of his teasing, his kisses, his sinous rubbing...he raised his face so that he could gaze down into her eyes.

" Do..you think...think you are...ready?" he asked hoarsley.

She fought the urge to bite her lip, or shake her head no. She was ready...but at the same time..she was very unready. Nervous, nervous, nervous...she chastised herself. She had faced hexes, curses, death, pain, and Basilisks...surely she could get through a few minutes of S-E-X.

Right?

She took his face between her shaky, suddenly very sweaty hands, and kissed his chin, nodding slighty her permission. He took a deep breath, and with a expression that resembled a sort of pleasurable agony, he began his invasion. She noticed right away that it was remarkably uncomfortable; yet extremely satisfying. Like scratching an itch even though it made your skin sting.

It was a bit snug, at first, forcing him to retreat once so that he could push in again, widening his path. The second time he was able to tuck in as far as she reached; and with a satisfied air of smugness...both at having successfully pioneered a new realm, and the knowledge that at the moment he sank home, the contract had become legal; he rolled his hips triumphantly, causing her to exclaim something that didn't sound very ladylike. Now that the pressure was resloved, they could both look at each other and smile. They had done it, by George, and it wasn"t half bad.

Epilogue

At last. If I could sigh in relief, I would do so...you two are really quite perfect for each other. Mr. MAlfoy is foiled, and I have had a lovely show. I am still havng a lovely show, actually.

There is nothing more pleasing to the eye than to gaze upon the perspiring form of two sated lovers; especially as the cling close to one another while the last cnadles fade into twilight.

That moment, after you finally found your way into her secret chamber, when you both laughed, and kissed...that was the moment that I believe even you , Mr. Lupin, realized that you have at long last found the very right lady for yourself.

I watched with amusement, your awkward rythyms, the bumping of noses as you tried to kiss. I watched with approval the increasing and frantic pace to which you both increased...the bedclothes retreated to the foot of the bed...except for the sheet, which always manages to fall to the floor.

But best of all...( well maybe not the best part, but very important to me,) I saw that at the last, whilst cling and heaving in the aftermath of extreme pleasure...a smile was born. A look of affection and relief shared between lovers, or friends. It doesnt matter what you consider your relationship to be now...

Because as far as I and the Ministry of Magic are concerned you are now legally man and wife. And I? Who am I?

I am just a painting, of a very special sort. For years I have been hung in the bridal chambers of well to do Wizarding households, where I oversaw the outcome of all arranged marriages, ( and not a few illicit trysts.). Most recently, before being purchased by the Ministry to spy on the vicitms of the marriage law, I belonged to the ancient and noble house of Black, and that is why I can assure you that wherever he is now, Sirius is having a good laugh at the expense of his old friend...Remus J. Lupin.

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A/N Not too sure I like the abrupt ending...but I think it gets the point across. Just for fun, and the excuse to play!


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